Atmosphere
by opal star
Summary: Three months, two parents gone and one Malfoy left in the world. Draco has no one, at least no one that he wants and the only person who is there is someone he thought below him... Tonks. A response to a challenge by Funkless
1. Default Chapter

Draco licked his lips and stared at the ground. His black shows shone dully back at him, shuffling on trodden grass.

It should have been raining. It should be windy. Or snowy. Or thundering. Something a little more appropriate ought to be falling from the heavens than this average, warm sunshine. He looked up at the sky, watching the endless clouds contrast with the sharp horizon. It never failed to vaguely daze him as a child - though he hadn't had the time recently to stop and look up around him anymore. Although at this very second he seemed to have more than enough to waste looking up and wondering. He had enough time to do anything that wasted it.

A grin flickered onto his face. Here he was, at his mother's funeral, contemplating cloud formations. The humour was lost on everyone else.

But he still wished it would rain. Apart from anything the sun was making the black clothes uncomfortably close and itchy.

Someone placed a hand on his shoulder and he was forced to return his mind back to earth.

It was a woman, one of the group that had come completely clad in black, with not so much as a finger on show to the world.

"Such a shame…" she sighed. Draco stared past the gossamer veil. A distant cousin. Someone. "…and after your father as well."

Draco had heard all this too many times before. Without the luxury of a hat to hide behind, he arranged his face carefully. "She didn't want to live. I think she's happier now."

He hoped anyway.

"Of course, of course."

There was a moments lull before Draco realised he was required to speak. "Are you staying afterwards? I think my mo-" He stopped suddenly realising to late his mistake, "I mean, there will be some tea and coffee back at the manor if you want to come."

For a sickening second, he thought that… he thought that someone else would be organising everything, seamlessly behind the scenes.

Whoever this woman was, she nodded mutely and moved along to comfort someone else.

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel. Everyone else seemed to know what was going on, whether or not it was genuine was a different subject, and was expecting the same from him.

Everything had happened so quickly. Where it had all began he couldn't put his finger on – that one key event, or person, he could blame eluded him. There were plenty of people he would have loved to blame but he was hardly going to waste his time and resources on something that he knew to be false.

He wasn't that stupid anymore and knew that he was out of his depth, completely.

"Draco, dear, there you are…"

After several more, boringly similar, conversations occurred, he decided to move away. Hopefully someone in this emotionally backwards family would realise he wanted to be alone. Just for a moment. There had to be somewhere he could hide for a while.

He found a bench beneath an old, sturdy tree and stayed.

The world seemed wrong at the moment. Here he was, dressed in best black funeral robes, watching the blossoms and green leaves sway in the breeze harmlessly. Draco sighed. If this was the time when he should cry, why wasn't he? Though no doubt everything would catch up with him at some point, at the moment he was enjoying the comfort of a little numbness.

Spring was everywhere. He could see it, smell it, hear it… but why couldn't he feel it?

His eyes fell onto the seat. There was a small metal plaque attached to the wood unceremoniously with a single nail.

_For Michael and Josephine, who were, and are always together._

Birdsong reached his ears as he slowly sat down on the seat. His face rested in his aching hands. But all he did was stare down at the grass beneath his feet. Another heavy sigh.

Somehow he knew that he would never have that person, that perfect person that would remain close throughout.

His eyes squinted through the stinging sunlight, down at the small crowd below.

He had no idea so many people would come here. Too late he wished he had told no one, and kept this moment to himself. But that was impossible. Despite everything he thought of his mother, she had friends, allies, from so many places. And then there was what was left of her broken house.

_The Noble and Most Notorious House of Black_

Thinking about it, he had hardly known anything of them when he was child – only his aunt Andromeda at Christmases. And even then it had only been when he could understand the consequences of his father finding out…

You wouldn't have thought that someone as… refined as Andromeda would have married a Mudblood. But Draco wasn't in the right mood to walk along that path, especially now. It had been a subject of selective memory for both his parents. Bringing up the child of _that_ marriage was a mistake you only made once.

But now he wouldn't mind seeing either of them. Anyone but these people who had come, not for him, but for themselves only.

Draco looked out across the fields beyond the gates. There were a few clouds hugging the horizon, innocently white, and they made his mood worse.

His mother should be here. She should have been more concerned with her living flesh and blood rather than that man. Draco glared at the cows grazing off in the distance.

Maybe he should go home and stay there forever, live off the vast amounts of alcohol his father stashed in various places. Shun the world. Undoubtedly though, someone would drag him out. No one seemed able to accept that he wasn't a child anymore… It had been almost two years since he'd left Hogwarts.

"Hello Draco."

And when he thought things couldn't get worse.

After a moment, he looked over at the figure behind him. Dressed in black, a woman stood with her hands clasped together. Draco felt a bitter smile pulled onto his face. Despite her tidy, out of character, appearance, he would recognise those eyes anywhere – whatever she did to them.

"Hello Nymphadora."


	2. Mixed Weather

There was a pause. The birds sung on but Draco's mind would not settle.

"Please, call me-"

"Tonks?" he interrupted, glancing behind in time to see that pink hair return again. "Yeah. I know."

They'd been through this so many times before. Especially when he was young, no older than eight, while he was dropped off at his aunt's and his mother did whatever she did, his cousin had reminded him almost constantly what to call him. But Draco had just smiled and continued to call her by her proper name.

Years and years ago, when they had last seen each other, they used to play outside in the garden. Draco didn't like it as much as his _grounds_ but it was very good for adventures. But it had begun to rain and they were playing board games. _Boring_ games described them perfectly. Draco didn't care what his aunt had said – the pieces were broken and they didn't move…

The present caught up with him.

He heard her smile and felt her sit down next to him. A slight breeze rippled around through the over-grown grass, rustling the still branches above him. He waited for her to speak. As far as he could remember, and he could remember very accurately, neither _Tonks_ nor her mother had even acknowledged that… this had happened.

But together they just watched the shrinking group of mourners mill around. Draco watched an unknown couple make their way along the narrow gravelled path towards the house until they disappeared behind a wall of blooming trees. When he wrenched his eyes away he realised his cousin was looking at him.

He looked away after a moment, mumbling under his breath, "Why are you here?"

At this point Tonks actually snorted, breaking the surreal quietness effectively. "Because we're family."

Out of all the answers, he expected, that was certainly not one of them. The moment dragged on before he said what was in his head. "And when has that ever meant anything?"

It was a statement. He didn't need a reply. He didn't want a reply.

"We've been in the wrong family then," she answered simply. Draco did not like the sound of that _we_.

_No – you've been in the wrong family, you weirdo. I've done fine. _

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He did. And the hesitation before he spoke couldn't have done a better job to show it.

But Nymphadora did nothing. She didn't contradict him like his father would have, nor did she indulge and agree like his mother. He wasn't sure how to continue. Luckily she did.

"Do you know any of them?"

She was talking about the people a little further down the slope. Draco cleared his throat. He knew most of them, all of them by sight and a few personally. All except two might as well keel over for all he cared.

But he wasn't going to let _her_ know this.

"Of course. Don't you?"

"Not personally."

Draco frowned for a moment, wondering how on earth she could.

Oh yes, she was one of Dumbledore's puppets. She probably knew all about all those people down there, all she had to do was find the read papers, filed away neatly in some huge cabinet in some obscure Ministry office. Draco shifted his position. He watched another group of people slowly make their way towards the house. Merlin only knew what and who they expected to be there.

He rubbed his eyes. He was so tired all the time.

There were several loud cracks as a group of people Apparated into the area. Draco watched them shrewdly – they weren't expecting anyone else. But he couldn't see them properly, the sun had now decided to emerge from a bank of cloud and blind him. He wasn't really bothered, or surprised – his mother had a lot of friends it seemed.

But _Tonks _clearly saw them and swore loudly before saying, "Who do they think they are? This is a graveyard for crying out loud-"

Draco felt the blood drain from his body and felt something unsettling slide into his stomach.

_Graveyard. _

He glanced down at the new set of arrivals. No one was speaking to them except a random uncle. That really could mean only one thing. _Ministry. _By now his cousin was practically twitching on her seat.

"Do you know who they are?"

She didn't look at him.

_Graveyard. _

Somehow, he didn't want to sit next to her anymore and stood up abruptly. Rubbing the back of his neck he turned around and saw her looking back at her.

Merlin knew what everyone else, his family, would think of him if they saw him here, with her and her pink hair. He took a step back.

"Look, are you here for a reason?" he snarled, running his fingers through his hair. "I've got enough going on at the moment. I've got to talk to these people, organise House elves, find the bloody creatures first actually, study for this exam…"

He sighed, his temporary anger already fading beneath him.

"Have you even cried?"

He stopped thinking abruptly; staring at her with something he hoped was disgust. He didn't think he'd got away with it, not with all the other emotions rippling away in his chest, trying to get priority.

"Excuse me?"

She wouldn't repeat herself. It was a pity he'd heard her the first time. He cleared his throat.

"Why are you here?"

Tonks frowned. "I told you. We're family."

_When it suits you. And no, actually, I haven't. _

"Just go away, _Nymphadora_," he spat, turning around and stalking back to the crowd. There was so much more he'd like to say to her, scream at her. He didn't look back and didn't see her frowning at the back of his head.

All of a sudden he found himself level with the latest guests, watching them watching the ground beside them blankly. He didn't recognise them. They had better have a good reason to be here… a really good reason.

But pasting a bland smile on his face, he coughed politely. "Can I help you?"

There were three of them, all men and all of them older than him, wearing the same cloaks. Two were looking around silently and the other talking to that uncle. Draco decided to concentrate on the quiet ones.

Unfortunately, the other man decided to take control.

"Are you Draco Malfoy?"

Something of his broken pride rose within him again. Or maybe it was the fact he was being looked down at.

After a momentary glance at the small group looking right back at him, he answered that he was. "And who are you?"

The man gave a strained smile. "Adam Smith. I'm sorry. I didn't realise that this was… a difficult time for you."

Draco gritted his teeth, picking the most scathing comment from the selection his brain had created. He didn't sound very sorry.

But someone else spoke. "I work in the Ministry. I've never heard of you."

He turned around, not recognising the voice but knowing already who it was. This time she had a petite, pretty face on a petite, slim body, dark brown hair and equally dangerous eyes. Draco glared at her. Everyone else in the family stared at her warily. Ministry guests were never welcome guests.

Adam Smith's strained smile seemed to come under more pressure. Draco watched it falter for a second.

"The Ministry has many areas-" Draco felt sorry for him now. He was treating her as a secretary, which, he suspected, was not a good thing to do. "-Not to mention all of the people that work in London alone, all those departments with minor branches. Hundreds. And then there is the Northern subdivision-"

Finally she snapped. "I get the idea."

Smith's two friends smiled meaningfully as he turned back to Draco, putting his back on show to Tonks. Draco was torn between hating and liking him, especially when he saw her glare ferociously.

"Mr. Malfoy, can we speak to you? It's rather urgent…"

He trailed off as Draco's momentary indecision rapidly turned to hating.

"Can it wait?"

Smith shuffled on his feet and rearranged his case into a different hand. He didn't look remotely uncomfortable as the suns intensity increased, despite the fact he was in heavy winter cloaks. Draco's skin was beginning to itch all ready.

Clearly he had asked an awkward question. All three of them took identical positions of embarrassment.

"I'm afraid-"

Draco could see Tonks winding up for another rant and decided to take Mr. Smith to one side.

"I'll ask you once more. Can it wait?"

Adam Smith bristled. Maybe he wasn't used to being talked to like this by a nineteen-year-old.

It was then that Draco looked at him properly. He looked no older than thirty, quite a veteran, and no doubt had a happy, loving family waiting for him at home. His hair was neatly trimmed, dirty blonde and short, and freshly shaved.

_How nice of them to make an effort. _

Though Draco was hardly an expert on this kind of thing, he definitely knew that Adam Smith didn't spend a lot of time behind a desk.

Draco's eyes drifted over the man's shoulder and unconsciously up to the sky. The clouds were starting to dissipate gradually, making the dull blanket of cloud that had hung over him before seem like a distant dream. Slowly he realised that he was being spoke to.

"…And it can't be easy for you, especially that you're mother has-"

"You're right. It's not easy but of course you are making the whole situation _so_ _much_ better."

Smith visibly paused, opened his mouth before shutting it. "We have no spare time for three weeks. If we come later it will be out of the blue."

By now Draco was walking away. "Perfect. It'll make my week."


End file.
